


Scared, Potter?

by Aegontargaryen (orphan_account)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-19
Updated: 2016-03-19
Packaged: 2018-07-26 06:48:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7564324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Aegontargaryen





	Scared, Potter?

“I’m just saying that if elves had the same opportunities that we have, they could—“  
“Oh my god, Hermione, you already told us this last night.”  
“But were you listening, Ron?” Hermione asked, her hair whipping across Harry’s cheek as she turned to shoot daggers at the redhead across the Gryffindor table. “You tend to be an awful listener.”  
“That’s not fair!” Ron insisted. “I listen to you.”  
“Really? Name three times.”  
“Guys, please,” Harry muttered, blowing Hermione’s brunettes strands away from his mouth. “Stop.”  
It was Friday morning at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and Harry was in no mood for bickering friends. He had spent all last night trying to write a stupid Charms essay (with no luck), had broken his favourite quill in the process of writing said essay, and then, just as the sun was peeking out from the mist, he had spontaneously recalled a late afternoon Potions exam he had not yet studied for. Harry shook his head. Horrifying. He almost regretted coming back to school this year – but of course, he had wanted to finish his education and this was the price he had chosen to pay.  
“You want three times, Hermione? I can name three times,” Ron piped up, ignoring Harry’s protest. “Three times you’ve been a loud, annoying—“  
Hermione stiffened. “I dare you to finish that sentence, Ronald Weasley!”  
“Maybe I will finish it! You don’t know me!”  
Harry rolled his eyes and looked down at his breakfast plate, which was nearly empty. He wasn’t hungry at the moment, but he knew that he had to eat something in order to get rid of the splitting headache he had acquired around 4AM this morning – it was getting worse now, with all the yelling around him. As he plucked up a piece of toast, Harry wondered how it was possible that so much sound could come out of these two very average-sized people. Looking around, there wasn’t much else that could contribute to the Ron-and-Hermione Morning Madness. Of course, students scarcely littered the Great Hall on Friday mornings, due to both the fact that it was early, and that it was Friday, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione were some of the very few that had actually shown up at the Gryffindor table – or any House table, for that matter. Harry cursed the day he and his two friends had been assigned 8 AM History of Magic.  
“I hate you, Ron,” Hermione snapped now, bringing Harry’s attention back to his friends. “You’re senseless, horrid—“  
“Why are you dating me then?” Ron countered.  
Hermione stabbed the egg on her plate.  
“Harry,” Ron turned to Harry, “You know how long her lectures drone on and on –“  
“No, Harry,” Hermione turned to him as well, “You know how obtuse Ron can be about the important matters of society –“  
Harry had had enough. He took an aggressive bite out of his jam-spread toast. “Listen, if I had felt like dealing with shit-spouting so early in the morning, I’d shag Rita Skeeter,” he retorted, still chewing with vigor. “Shut it. Honestly. For once.”  
At that, Ron grimaced and Hermione looked a mix of disapproving and scandalized – Harry expected these reactions from them. What he had not expected, however, was the sound of a short laugh and an all-too-familiar muffled snort.  
Coming from three tables away.  
Harry frowned and glanced between his friends – both presently wearing matching expressions of alarm. Then, all at once, Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked towards the Slytherin table.  
There sat silver-headed Draco Malfoy, alone, his normally pallid face pink with shame as Harry’s gaze leveled with his own. Malfoy’s eyes widened at the contact. Then, to Harry’s slight surprise, Malfoy dropped a forkful of sausages and covered his own gaping mouth, the ghost of a laugh still lingering there.  
Harry wrinkled his brow. Had Malfoy just…laughed?  
~~~~~~  
Damn it.  
Draco kept his gaze steadily glued to the desk in front of him. With structured determination, he scanned the shoddy-looking Charms notes lined in neat order next to his quills (the notes were actually Blaise’s – Draco had stolen them the night before), but not one piece of information stuck with him for more than ten seconds. It was difficult to stay focused, considering what was actually on his mind. Draco felt his cheeks heat up again – an action that had been occurring quite frequently since The Incident this morning.  
The Incident.  
Oh, woe was Draco, and gods, how Draco loathed woe. But here he was. Stupidly and restlessly bearing the burdens of his mistakes. He grit his teeth.  
Honestly. It was one laugh! One measly laugh. How was Draco to know that the Golden Trio would hear him eavesdropping from three whole tables away? Draco wasn’t being creepy, after all, Granger and Weasley had been going at it rather loudly. How could anyone not hear? Anyway, Draco had a right to appreciate snarky comments (it was in the very core of his nature), no matter whom they had come from. It was just that Potter was so rarely funny that it had taken Draco by actual surprise. He hadn’t meant to be loud about it or anything. He simply hadn’t realized that Potter would react.  
Besides, Potter was the Saviour of the Wizarding World; he had an ample amount of attention thrown towards him on a daily basis. Just because Draco and Potter had been childhood rivals didn’t mean that it had to be any different. Draco almost rolled his eyes at himself. Yeah. Okay. That was untrue. Still, Draco had been making an enormous effort to stay away from all things Potter this school year, and before The Incident, he had been doing quite well with his endeavour. Now, the very idea of confrontation with Potter made Draco’s skin crawl in a way that was altogether foreign to him; he had chalked it up to the stupid, buzzing nervousness he had acquired as of late. It was no longer exciting to pick fights with the Boy Who Lived – Draco needed to understand that. Of course, the old Draco Malfoy would never shy away from a challenge. But the old Draco Malfoy had been left behind, as had many things, with the end of the war.  
Draco shook the idea from his mind.  
Well, it wasn’t the collapse of the world, right? Draco doubted that Potter cared enough to actually ask him about it. Right? Of course… Draco had been feeling a vague sensation of surveillance for quite a while now – he lifted his head for a brief moment before quickly snapping it back into his previous position. The Trio. Draco knew his cheeks were traitorously pink again. So maybe there was a chance that the green-eyed hero was curious. Maybe a little. But it didn’t mean that it had to be anything to Draco… No matter how fascinating his newfound Potter-is-sort-of-funny discovery was to him.  
As soon as Flitwick announced that class was over, Draco jumped out of his seat and stalked towards the door – he didn’t have any of his Slytherin pals in this particular lesson, meaning that he had nobody to linger around for. But somehow, it seemed, Potter, Granger, and Weasley had all made it to the exit before him, and somehow, it seemed, Draco had ended up stuck behind them in the corridor. Damn. Draco tried to find an escape; the halls were swarming with students trying to get somewhere. He grit his teeth and ducked his head a little, hoping that the trio wouldn’t notice his presence behind them. This was just his luck.  
“Worst essay I’ve ever written,” Draco heard Weasley scoff. “And that includes Potions years 1-6.”  
“Don’t talk like that,” Potter said. He was walking between the two others, his robes swishing behind him and hitting the tips of Draco’s loafers. Draco noticed that Potter’s robes finally fit him. “Besides, I reckon you can only get worse from here,” Potter added.  
Weasley snorted. “Thanks, mate.”  
Granger made a little noise. “Harry, don’t think you’ve gotten out of trouble for this morning.”  
“I’m in trouble? I’m rather sure it was Ron you were mad at, not me.”  
“Thanks again, mate!” Ron exclaimed.  
Granger shook her head. “It was a crude comment,” she clucked.  
“It was a joke, Hermione,” Potter sighed. “I obviously would never shag Rita Skeeter—“  
Granger pursed her lips. “She’s a manipulative and horrible woman. She practically ruined your life, not to mention mine, and you know all she cares about is a juicy story—”  
“But of course –“ Potter continued, ignoring her, “I do like blondes, so maybe, I mean, if I weren’t already romantically involved with you…”  
“Harry, that’s not funny.”  
That stopped Weasley from chuckling. Draco wondered whether Potter actually liked blond hair. Also, had Potter always been quite so sharp-witted? Draco’s history of conversation with Potter had always included a long list of “uh”s and “er”s and “why you little…”s – and of course, a lot of angry red-faced grunts. But this, this was entirely new to him.  
“Well, Malfoy seemed to think it was funny,” Potter said now, drawing Draco’s attention back to the trio.  
Weasley nudged Potter’s shoulder. “Since when does it matter what Malfoy thinks?”  
Potter reached up and scratched his bird’s nest hair. “Since he’s the only one who laughs at my jokes,” he said, earning himself another shove from his redheaded pal.  
“I laugh at your jokes,” Weasley whinged.  
Granger humph-ed.  
“Yeah, well, Ron, you’ll laugh at anything,” Potter remarked. They were all rounding the corner to the library.  
“I do not,” Weasley insisted.  
Granger scoffed. “You were laughing at the nutrition facts label on your cereal this morning.”  
“The sugar content was laughable—“  
“Yes, I’m quite sure your mother would think so too,” Potter quipped.  
Draco couldn’t help but snort.  
Oh.  
Fuck.  
Potter and his friends turned around just as Draco dashed into the next hallway – seemingly unnoticed. But as the trio continued to walk into the library, Draco could have sworn he saw Potter’s green eyes trailing in the direction Draco had gone. Draco sighed and leaned up against the wall. It seemed that he was well on his way to becoming a serial Potter eavesdropper. Lovely.  
~~~~~~  
It was past curfew.  
Harry stood very still and listened to the quiet outburst of giggles from a group of Fourth Year girls sneaking from the kitchens. He, of course, was safely and conveniently hidden beneath his Invisibility cloak – because despite the fact that they could get in trouble, Saturday nights were a bit of a freebie for many of the older students, and Harry and the others knew this well. However tonight, Harry didn’t feel like getting caught up in the activities; he much rather fancied the idea of wandering around the castle alone. Like he used to. Turning on his heel, Harry made his way to the star-filled courtyard. It was bittersweet, he could admit, to remember the events that had transpired here. But Harry had vowed a long time ago that he wouldn’t hold onto the bad things – he would keep the good things in his heart and hope for the best. He was ready for that.  
Harry entered the courtyard now, dropping his Invisibility cloak and turning his face towards the open sky. It was a beautiful night. He maneuvered his way through a few bushes and flowered paths and found his favourite bench, sighing as he sat. Beautiful night. Harry balled up his cloak and laid it on the cold stone, using it as a sort of pillow as he shimmed down and placed his own head on it. He had just closed his eyes, his mind full of shimmering little balls of light, when he heard the slight squeak of shoes. There was an abrupt stop for a moment, and then a quicker pace of squeak. Harry frowned and sat up.  
“Malfoy?” he asked.  
The blond Slytherin stopped dead in his tracks. His back was to Harry, as if he had just seen Harry lying there and then had tried to run in the other direction.  
“Um,” Malfoy said, turning around slowly. “I was just – I wasn’t following you.”  
“Um,” Harry replied. “Okay.”  
Malfoy pursed his lips. “I’m going to go now.”  
“Wait,” Harry said. To be honest, Harry had tried to block Malfoy from his memory after the war ended – and now, he realised that that wasn’t exactly fair. Sure, nothing that had occurred between the two of them could ever be called fair, but Harry had felt the conscious prick of compassion from Malfoy during the times it had seemed most crucial – and no matter how annoying or spiteful the Slytherin had been over the years, Malfoy was indeed human. And this morning, when Harry had heard Malfoy laugh… he remembered that. It was a refreshing thought.  
Malfoy still looked as if he were going to bolt. Harry gestured at him. “Sit down,” he coaxed. “I want to talk to you.”  
Malfoy seemed suspicious. “Look, if you think that I’m going to attack you or something, I’m not –“  
“What? No,” Harry wrinkled his brow. “Just sit down, git.”  
Malfoy frowned, but only for a moment, because then he sighed and strode over to Harry’s bench, plopping down on it with a determined plunk. He seemed to respond better to words of a rude, forceful nature. Harry almost wanted to laugh. It only made sense.  
“What do you want?” Malfoy asked bluntly.  
“I’ve realised…” Harry moved over a bit to give Malfoy more room. The other boy was sitting on the very edge of the other side of the bench. “We haven’t ever actually… talked. In a civil manner, at least.”  
Malfoy raised his brows. “Nice observation.”  
“Well,” Harry continued, “I mean, I know we’ve had our differences in the past –“  
“Really, Potter?” Malfoy folded his arms across his chest. “We’re doing this?”  
“It could work, and who knows, maybe we could be –“  
“Friends?” Malfoy scoffed. “You honestly believe that –“  
“I didn’t say—“  
“What were you going to say, then?”  
Harry let out a sigh of exasperation. “I’m just trying to make things right.”  
“Who said they weren’t right before?”  
“Shut up, Malfoy, you know that’s stupid.”  
“You’re stupid.”  
“Are you honestly trying to pick a fight with me?”  
Malfoy stood up. “Maybe I am,” he challenged.  
“Fine,” Harry stood up as well, “Let’s do it.”  
“Okay, let’s.”  
Harry stood facing Malfoy for a good minute, neither of them moving to draw out a wand or go for the other’s gut. It was clear that nothing was going to happen. Harry rolled his eyes.  
“Fine, Malfoy,” he said tiredly. “You win. You can go.”  
The other appraised Harry for a moment. “Gone soft, have you, Potter?”  
“Never was hard to begin with,” Harry retorted, without thinking. “Still reckon I’m a pretty good size, though.”  
Malfoy stared at him for a moment. His thin mouth twitched, as if he wanted to laugh or grimace (Harry wasn’t sure), but the Slytherin held strong. He bit his lip before responding. “You are a piece of work, Scarhead.”  
Harry grinned a little. “And you find me funny, Ferret.”  
“Your stupidity does make me chuckle sometimes, yes.”  
“No,” Harry said, stepping forward, “You think that I am clever. You think, not only am I clever, but also witty — and to your standards. You think that I am genuinely entertaining.”  
Malfoy snorted. “What a load of tripe.”  
“Admit it.”  
“No.”  
“Admit it, Malfoy!” Harry said louder.  
“Not in a million years,” Malfoy exclaimed.  
Harry stepped closer now and Malfoy backed up into a nearby bush. They both stood there, half-glaring, half-grinning at each other. It must have looked ridiculous. Harry stopped and narrowed his eyes.  
“I will give you one more try…” Harry murmured. “…to admit that there might actually sort of be a chance for this…”  
Malfoy smirked now. “No fucking way,” he hissed back.  
Harry lunged at him. Malfoy fell into the bush.  
As Malfoy shouted and flailed his arms wildly, and Harry keeled over onto the pavement, roaring with laughter. “Oh, my, Merlin,” Harry choked, slapping his own knee. “Priceless! This is the best thing that has ever happened to me—”  
“Hey, Piss Pot!” Malfoy yelled from the bush, “Be a fucking doll and help a bloke out here!”  
Harry stood and held out an arm for the Slytherin, still laughing as Malfoy heaved himself up and brushed off his robes. He glared at Harry as if the world was ending.  
“What the hell was that?” he asked.  
“You, being funny, for once,” Harry replied, hiccupping now.  
“That was not funny!”  
“Malfoy,” Harry said, sitting back down on the bench. “Come to Hogsmeade with me next weekend.”  
Malfoy’s eyes widened. “Are you joking?” he demanded.  
“Absolutely not.” Harry grinned.  
“Why?”  
“I make you laugh and you make me laugh. What could go wrong?”  
Malfoy raised an eyebrow. “I can think of a lot of things. And most of those things are actual real life memories.”  
Harry patted the seat next to him, and Malfoy, after a slight hesitation, sat down. Harry shrugged his shoulders and leaned back to look up at the sky once more. “Fuck the bad memories,” he remarked, thinking of the stars and the moon and Malfoy’s little laugh from breakfast. “It’s time to make new ones.”  
Malfoy was quiet for a long time. He seemed to be mulling carefully over that statement. “Well, fine then,” he agreed, after another beat. “Hogsmeade it is.”  
“Brilliant.”  
“But don’t you dare push me into another bush ever again, Potter, or so help me –“  
Harry only smiled. He couldn’t wait to make the best of this year.


End file.
